


layover two

by shaykreth



Series: connecting flights [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, M/M, Under-negotiated Kink, Wax Play, role play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaykreth/pseuds/shaykreth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three weeks we’ve been left behind at Skyhold. This library is a deception - half the books in it are copies of Varric’s fiction. I would make some requests of the librarian, only… I believe he’s fallen victim to my charms. Doesn’t anyone know how to properly flirt in the south?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> [newest edit] I've revised the middle area of this fic based on feedback and a better understanding about what I'm writing! I'm leaving the under-negotiated kink tag, because I think that still applies, but removed the dub-con tag. Especially with the way the Adoribull fandom has been under attack/scrutiny recently, I wanted to make sure that this fic properly respected the amount of care Bull exhibits for his lovers. I've left the edit to show where mistakes have been made and where hopefully they have been improved upon!
> 
> [old edit] Based on feedback, I have added tags for dub-con and under negotiated kink for a particular scene about halfway through! Please, if this is something that may trigger you, don't read! I wrote this before I gained a more nuanced understanding of the nature of this kink, and may end up rewriting that portion to remove the dub-con nature of it. If I do, I will amend this further. Original author's note as follows:
> 
> Dorian/Iron Bull, chapter one is T for language, sex talk. Slight spoilers if you haven’t completed Bull’s big companion quest, hints at Dorian’s but nothing specific. The context is useful, though.
> 
> Chapter two involves sex, thus the rating. Ahahaha.

> _Three weeks we’ve been left behind at_ Skyhold _. This library is a deception - half the books in it are copies of Varric’s fiction. It is… admittedly entertaining, actually. Writing anything else would be lying._
> 
> _I would make some requests of the librarian, only... I believe he’s fallen victim to my charms. While I can’t blame him, the man’s vacuous stares when I hand him a list of reading materials is really more irritating than flattering._
> 
> _Doesn’t anyone know how to properly flirt in the south?_

Dorian left the comfort of his arm chair for the hard seat of a wooden bench in Skyhold’s ramshackle tavern. He sat next to The Iron Bull, his most common drinking partner of late, who was staring at him with rapt attention as Dorian sipped from one of several goblets sitting before him.

“Hm. Faint notes of dirt. It reminds me of… nugs? This must be some dwarven nastiness.” Dorian opened his mouth slightly, sticking his tongue out. “Ith offenthiv.”

Bull laughed raucously, clearly inebriated. “Pretty sure that came out of a carta stash, so… yeah. Probably nug.”

Dorian continued to struggle with use of his mouth. “I think it’s left an afterimage on my tongue. This is a flavor that is never leaving my mouth. _Thank you_ , Bull, I can no longer taste.”

The Iron Bull leered, skin wrinkling around his eye in merriment. “You better close that mouth or I’ll find something else to put in it.”

“Oh, that would definitely help, yes, ox is the best flavor for nullifying nug.” Dorian made further exaggerated facial expressions. “Please, spare me.”

He pushed a smaller glass across the table, watching Bull’s large hands as they carefully picked it up by the stem, cradling the bowl in his palm before swirling, smelling, and tasting. “That act of civility almost has me fooled.”

This was the game, as of one week ago: they taste enough of one another’s alcoholic picks until one or the other obtains particularly grabby hands. Then they retire to their respective rooms and speak of it to no one (unless you are The Iron Bull, at which point you talk about your conquests as if they were parts of a _weather report_ and _none of it fucking matters_ and y _ou wonder why you even bothered with rules_ ).

Dorian was building a tolerance to many things, bad drinks among them.

Bull swallowed, laughing. “I think I drank an apple.”

“That would be,” said Dorian, reaching over to pluck the glass from his hand, “an apple wine, so, yes, very observant. Light, with strong aromatics. Cinnamon and cloves make this an excellent seasonal drink to pair with harvest feast desserts.”

“It’s … sweet. Like a candy. Or a cake. Not like alcohol.” Bull shook his head as he reached, in return, for one of the goblets that sat before Dorian. “This… this is a drink. It should burn a little on the way down. That’s how you know it works.”

“It’s official. You have zero taste.”

The Iron Bull held this drink different, as if knowing that without a firm hand it might fight him back - _and he is always firm with those who fight him back_ \- before succumbing to a swallow. He grimaced as he downed the foul drink, then coughed, or laughed, victorious against it. The muscles in his neck and back tensed with each staccato sound - _from myself or from him_ \- a grin breaking across his face.

Bull was a machine built for death. Built for tearing a broad axe through a person and leaving them in pieces behind. For taking and for breaking. His hands could encircle one of Dorian’s wrists with little effort - _and had, oh yes, they had_ \- and hold, helpless. The muscles in his arms were so powerful, from ripping and carrying - _bedsheets, me, everything_ \- day in and day out.

“Dorian?”

Dorian glanced up quickly, realizing he had been staring at Bull’s hands for a solid fifteen seconds. Bull’s grin spread.

“Had enough to drink, then?” Dorian asked, standing up shortly and leaving nothing uncertain in his tone of where his mind had been.

“Ah, for now, yes. Maybe I’ll have some more later.” Bull stood, clasping a hand onto Dorian’s shoulder. “Do you need an escort? It’s, uh, really dark around here at night. You know. Adaar should install some lanterns. Or fires. Maybe just light some more things on fire.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, looking at Bull as he walked around the table, leaving the half-finished glasses of alcohol behind. “Yes, an escort, I would so hate to run into a puddle or a brick or _you_ on the way to _your_ chambers.”

Bull laughed. “I was being polite! I don’t want to assume your location of choice for tonight.”

“How kind.”

“In fact,” Dorian added after a silent minute of walking up to the ramparts. “I have a small surprise for you, if you are so inclined.”

“Does this surprise bite?” Bull leaned closer to him, breath misting in the cold night air.

“What? No. Why would it bite?” Dorian opened the door to The Iron Bull’s room.

Bull shrugged as he closed and locked the door behind him. “Because that would be surprising.”

The room was dark, no candles left burning, lit only by the moonlight coming through the broken window, but Dorian knew it was military-neat. Armor hung on a massive frame in the corner, the smell of polish strong. The furnishings were spartan but efficient; a few personal belongings sat on top of a dresser that held what items didn’t fit in the footlocker at the end of the bed. The bed itself was clean and neatly made, a habit Dorian was surprised by. The Iron Bull took fastidious care of his space, as he took care of most things that were undeniably his.

“Now, now, Bull, let’s be honest: that would hardly be a surprise.” Dorian sat on the bed, firm but with give - perfect for the heavy weight of him over me - and reached into one of his pockets for a small tin. He tossed it over to Bull before turning attention to carefully undoing the buckles on his clothes to remove the more intricate layers - I don’t want to lose another outfit to impossibly strong hands.

“This is horn balm!” Bull announced, turning an open-mouthed expression onto Dorian.

“Oh good, then I wasn't lied to.” Dorian stretched his legs out. “I overheard your discussion with Varric regarding the stuff. Do your horns truly itch?”

“Oh, do they ever.” The Iron Bull twisted off the top of the tin, sticking his fingers into the thick waxy grease. He tilted his head and began rubbing it into the base of the horn opposite his eye patch, eyes closing and a pleased smile settling on his face. He hummed, a deep rumble.

“My, my, Bull! You are practically purring. Over here, now, allow me.” Dorian moved his hands away from his own clothes (the hard work was really mostly done now) for a come hither motion. Bull was happy to oblige, passing the tin to him as he sat down on the floor in front of the bed. Tucking a leg underneath him, the other by Bull’s shoulder, Dorian began to work some of the balm onto the skin at the base of bull’s horns.

He massaged the balm into gray skin. He was honestly surprised at the suppleness of Qunari skin, once up close and personal to it. It looked so harsh at a distance, and certainly with vitaar applied it was a danger to touch. But washed clean, it was firm but forgiving and had an almost suede quality in more … _tender_ areas.

The skin surrounding Bull’s horns was, now that Dorian was examining it so closely, very dry compared to the rest, and it responded very well to the thick wax of the balm. There were some clear blisters where the skin had been scratched raw; Dorian tsked as he massaged. “You do take such poor care of your skin.” He sniffed. “But this smells delightful. Spicy. A little tingly on the skin as well…”

“That’s the rashvine.”

Dorian stopped his ministrations. “Rashvine.”

“Mm, yeah. Horn balm uses a lot of it, some elfoot… ah, I don’t know the rest. Why’d you stop?”

Dorian slapped him across the back of his head. “ _Stupid_ ox of a man! Rashvine causes _rashes_ for those of us not covered head to toe in gray. It’s in the name.” Dorian moved around him to stand up, making for the hand basin on the side table and washing his hands thoroughly.

The Iron Bull said, holding back laughter. “There’s an ingredient list-”

“Because you know just how well versed I am in Qunlat. So helpful! _Thank you_ , Bull.” He dried his hands carefully, examining them closely. “I’ll have some regrets about this tomorrow.”

He felt Bull’s breath on the top of his head as he moved to stand behind Dorian. “Making you regret things is a skill of mine,” he said, voice rumbly and deep.

“You don’t say…”

Bull put one arm around Dorian’s waist and picked him up, effortlessly, then deposited him unceremoniously onto the bed. Dorian let out a huff. “Beast.” Excitement and expectation took control of his processes as Bull pulled silk trappings from a chest under his bed.

The Iron Bull was warm, close and radiating heat as he leaned over Dorian. He was also quite efficient at tying the knots around Dorian’s wrists, binding him quickly to the head of the bed. It was all a giant tease. “Thanks for the horn stuff.”

“Thank Varric, he’s the resident smuggler.”

“I dedicate this moment to him, in his honor.”

“Ew."


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nah, I have a better idea.” Bull, without any preamble, stripped out of the rest of his clothes.
> 
> Do you need to know more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated R, explicit, sexiness and sex occurs. Dorian/Iron Bull getting sexy this time. Trigger warnings for some light BDSM, all consensual, but includes some role play, bondage, and wax/heat play. Ahem.
> 
> Part of connecting flights, an ongoing series about the in-between time of a giant military-political machine. Each part stands alone (even consecutive chapters, as of right now), but they are all stories about stuff! :D

“Fine, fine,” Bull smiled, a slow thing. “No more dwarves.”

“No more talk about anyone else at all, I should think…” He watched as Bull lit a candle sitting on the bedside table. “The darkness was just fine.”

“Nah, I have a better idea.” Bull, without any preamble, stripped out of the rest of his clothes.

Dorian watched, unabashedly. The candle was dim, and in the predominantly moonlit room Dorian could not see the detailed nuances of color that defined The Iron Bull’s skin. He was all in blacks and whites, gray and washed out, as if a diagram of what a man should look like.

“We good?” Bull asked.

“Ah, yes. Please proceed.”

Bull’s arousal was apparent, half hard as he palmed himself to a full erection. Dorian was quiet, the entire process so to-the-point to be fascinating. Nervous energy knotted in his stomach, knowing that Bull’s business-like facade to the mechanics precluded his artistic mastery of the anticipation.

This was the only straightforward aspect of sex with The Iron Bull.

Bull moved back towards the bed, carefully working free the remaining buckles on Dorian’s clothes, removing what could be removed and loosening the rest. His hands were slow, meticulous, and Dorian did not feel the need to squirm or rush (his clothes were hanging in the balance), but Bull’s silence was becoming uncomfortable.

“So quiet. Are my clothes so thought provoking?”

Bull just grunted, moving clothing around until Dorian’s chest was exposed to the drafty air of the keep. He placed one hand on Dorian’s chest, pressing down. “Stay still.”

“I’ve hardly moved an inch, dear Bull, but if you want me to stay still the whole time you’ll need to tie me down a bit more firmly.” Dorian shifted to prove a point, but Bull moved a hand to his hip and stilled him with a firm grip.

“Still.”

“Yes, sir,” Dorian answered. Bull’s presence became oppressive, silent as he removed Dorian’s pants, smallclothes, anything that could be taken off. He was agonizingly detached from the whole thing; though careful with Dorian’s clothes, his fingers never lingered. It was new to Dorian, this behavior, and wholly lacking the personality he had come to enjoy from Bull. Energetic, enthusiastic, teasing to the point of _filth_ , these were things he had come to expect. Not silence, not this mechanical approach.

The nervous knot in his stomach had hardened, turning to something far more uncomfortable.

“ _Katoh_ ,” Dorian said suddenly, without thinking any harder about it. He spat the word quickly, before continuing, “ _now_ , _katoh_ , Bull. Untie me. What are you _doing_?”

Bull looked up at him, face deadpan, before morphing back into the gentler expression of _The Iron Bull_. He sat up, quickly, moving immediately to the ties at Dorian's wrists. "Sorry, sorry, are you okay?"

Dorian was quiet for three full seconds before exploding - “What even WAS that? That was the most uncomfortable … _anything_ I’ve had to deal with in a long time.”

Laying the ropes at the head of the bed, near the pillows, Bull ran his hands gently over Dorian's wrists - just a little red. "What part? Can you be more specific?" Dorian sat up, shaking a little but feeling... _reassured_ in Bull's care and reminder that _no, no, this is the man I lo-_. "The silence. It... Ah. Well, it was probably more reminiscent of some previous encounters than I would like... well, anything involving you to be." 

Bull's face was passive as he asked "can I touch you?" and waiting for Dorian's nod before placing a hand gently on his stomach. “Hey, some people get into that ‘intense, savage Qunari’ thing.”

“Well,” Dorian sniffed, "I'd much before a 'loud, savage Qunari' if we should revisit this." He covered Bull's hand with his own, knowing the tender, gentle touch is betraying his haughty posturing, but ultimately not really caring much at all.

Bull squeezed his hand. "Want me to get you something? Want, um, want some space? I can do that."

Dorian rolled his eyes, but he knew his expression was soft. “No, if you promise to keep talking. And to act like a Qunari savage instead of a Tevinter one." Bull knows and understands what he means." 

"Come back. And, ah, redo the ropes if you'd be so kind." He paused. "I do hope that wasn't all of your big plan?”

“Nah, only part of it.” Bull leaned down to kiss next to Dorian’s navel, putting his hands on either side of his hips to still Dorian. “You’ll have to wait for the next part.”

“Ah. Well. Good then.”

Bull continued kissing around the lines of Dorian’s stomach while Dorian watched. Bull was always a little intense about his sexual conquests, but that had been a bit too much. This was normal. Bull would find a place, somewhere tender, and kiss the flesh until he had explored it fully, then sucking, teething, marring it in some way.

“You’re too perfect, pretty boy,” Bull murmured against his skin, nipping at the tender skin below his nipples.

“Won’t be for long, should you have your way,” Dorian answered, breathing in deeply as Bull inched his way up his chest. One hand moved from his hip - really, one was enough to keep Dorian well and truly still - to his leg, running his thumb back and forth against the skin of his inner thigh. Calloused and rough, Bull’s hands could easily be Dorian’s favorite part of him.

One of them, at least.

One hand holding him firm, the other scratching him gently - so close but so careful to not touch him _just there_ \- _ah, frustration_ \- Bull bit the skin right underneath Dorian’s right nipple.

Dorian breathed in swiftly, holding and breathing out slowly as Bull sucked and worried the skin into a bruise. Dorian’s retaliation was in keeping gasps and groans quiet. He wasn’t particularly good at it - _ha, Bull just pinched me_ \- but he did try. It’s the thought that counts.

Dorian itched for contact against his erection, moving his free leg to gain at least some friction for himself. He was _hard_ , and wanted Bull to both deny and arbitrate that contact. Bull did, with a not wholly gentle slap to his thigh, pushing the leg down at an awkward angle that made it difficult for Dorian to move at all. Dorian let out a pleased little gasp as Bull’s hand connected with his skin. A deep hum rumbled through Bull as he continued to nip and bite at Dorian’s dark skin.

“Impatient a bit?” Bull sat up, admiring his handiwork. Dorian was sprawled in a manner only properly described as wanton - _it’s what I’m best at_ \- one leg held down at the knee while Bull caressed his thigh.

“Alright. Dorian.” Bull reached up, giving Dorian a meaningful look - _yes it’s fine get on with it_ \- as he checked the bindings before reaching over to the bed stand and picking up the candle in its metal holder.

_Oh yes._

“Permission to-”

“ _Please_.” Dorian arched his back up in anticipation of the _hot - sting_ -

He closed his eyes and gasped as he felt the first hot bit of wax hit his skin. It stung, burned just enough, just so, just right. It cooled quickly, leaving little balls of wax stuck to his skin. Bull was barely touching him - using one hand to hold his leg down and the other to tilt the candle - sitting to the side of Dorian and watching him writhe.

“Don’t get much out of doing this with other Qunari,” Bull observed conversationally, dropping one little bit at a time. “Skin’s just too tough for this. But you little humans have such sweet skin,” he pinched the skin at Dorian’s hip, “to make this so rewarding.”

Dorian kept his eyes shut, twisting against the silk bindings. “ _Yess_ , very satisfying for you, I’m _ssooo_ sure.” The words were swears out of his mouth.

Bull so carefully, so slowly, poured a long line of wax down Dorian’s chest, stomach, nearly too far for something so hot, eliciting hitched little “aah”s from him, because _oh, yes, that is - just - that’s just nice -_

Bull’s hand wrapped around Dorian’s cock then, earning a quick thrust up, satisfaction like an _addiction_ as he could finally find upward movement. Bull laughed, hand fondling his balls with a squeeze before pulling his hand back. Dorian let out a sound of frustration. “Argh, you are a fucking savage - ”

“No, no, not quite… Not fucking much of anything yet. Good to know you’re expecting it though.” He grinned. “I’d be more disappointed if this wasn’t so much fun.” He still held the candle holder in one hand, waiting patiently for the wax to melt further -

Dorian growled under his breath, and the candle went out as the wax melted all at once, the candle holder suddenly quite warm - _actually maybe burning hot, oops_ \- in Bull’s hand. Bull, startled, jerked his hand back and dropped some large portion of the wax onto Dorian’s stomach. Dorian hissed and arched his back - _that was what I wanted, that bite of heat, that was just_ -

“Warning next time!” The Iron Bull admonished, dropping the candle holder to the floor to look at his hand, but Dorian was doing his best to twist just a little, to kick him, _almost itching for a fight_ -

“ _Saar_ ,” Bull cursed under his breath, moving his hand to grip at Dorian’s cock at the base, applying pressure - _just enough, he knows my limits already_ \- before grabbing him roughly at the hips and turning him over. The Iron Bull was fast, slapping him across the ass and snatching the bottle of oil off the bedside table.

“Ah, _kaffas_ , yes,” Dorian was grinning into the pillows. This was _living_ , this was feeling _alive_.

Bull placed one hand on Dorian’s waist, holding him up with a tight grip as he began to finger him.

“You are an impatient man, burning my fingers and wasting a perfectly good candle,” Bull’s voice was rough, his hands rougher, relying on plenty of the thick oil to do some of the work as he pushed two, three fingers into Dorian with little preamble. “There is the reason we shackle and mute our mages, ‘vint.”

“I’d do it again, too, savage.”

Bull slapped him again, pulling his hand away and lifting Dorian full off the bed before pushing, pressing hard into him, his cock slick with the oil. Dorian gasped, a full-throated _aahh!_ that he knew, knew Bull would feel.

He was dangling - _of all the undignified things I’ve undergone_ \- between the headboard and Bull, held aloft as he was thoroughly fucked. Each thrust was a loud thing, the bed creaking and banging against the wall, Bull’s grunts and Dorian’s short, staccato cries. “Yess, that, that is - _fuck me_ -”

“I _am_.” Dorian knew he would come quickly, and he did, gasping and pulling against the bindings, the only motion left to him a pull of his arms that left him loose and stretched in the best possible way.

Bull pushed into him once, twice more before coming with a groan and a tightening of his hands, holding Dorian flat against him - _I’m balls deep in trouble_ \- and Dorian laughed inanely as Bull’s grip loosened and slowly pulled them apart.

Dorian, eyes closed, listened to Bull’s deep breathes, efforts at calming, while he wheezed slightly - _is that a damned cold on top of everything else_ \- and was laid with surprising gentleness back onto the bed. The bindings were undone and Bull held his hands as he inspected.

“I’m _fine_ , Bull, lay down,” Dorian said, voice far more breathless than he’d like it to be.

Bull grunted and complied, pulling Dorian back to chest against him and holding - _so warm_ \- as he kissed the back of his head and neck lightly, gently. 

“I didn’t burn your hand did I?”

"Huh? Oh, no. I'm fine. That's what the watchword is for, anyway." He placed another kiss into his hair. 

“Morning will come soon,” The Iron Bull murmured. “You should sleep so you’ll look pretty for the masses.”

“Heh. Morning will come when I tell it to.”

“Bullshit. You’re the sub, and everyone knows it.”

“Ah… well, yes. Oh well. I’ll just quiver at it until it listens.”

“Damn right you will."


End file.
